


He's Just Not That Into You

by agent85



Series: 52 Stories in 52 Weeks [31]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Romantic Comedy, Because He Is Evil, Evil Grant Ward, F/M, Friends to Lovers, He's Just Not That Into You, He's Just Not That Into You AU, Romantic Comedy, TFSN Rom Com Challenge, Who Is Dating Daisy at First, but not for long
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-09
Updated: 2017-01-21
Packaged: 2018-08-14 00:01:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7991182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agent85/pseuds/agent85
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jemma Simmons has spent a lifetime making excuses for the guys who disappointed her. But when a bartender named Fitz gives her a whole new perspective on the dating scene, she is confident he can help her turn her life around.</p><p>It's only fair that she returns the favor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. If He's Not Calling You

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to week thirty-four of my [52 short stories in 52 weeks challenge](http://agent-85.tumblr.com/52)! This week's prompt: a story about loneliness.
> 
> I use a lot of quotes from the book and the movie in this story. Just putting that out there.

Jemma took a second to steel herself. This, after all, was the twenty-first century, and a girl had the right to write her own destiny. She breathed in the good, breathed out the bad, and opened the door to the bar like it was the door that lead to the best part of her life.

But when she did a quick scan of the place and saw that she didn't recognize a single person, it kind of felt like she just walked into a bar. 

"Are you joining us for dinner?"

"Huh?"

Jemma turned towards the voice and found herself face to face with the hostess, who apparently was still waiting for the answer to her question.

"Oh, I'm meeting someone," she answered. "A guy."

And was he here? He should be? She scanned the room again, sure that she must have just missed him.

"Why bother?"

"Hmm?"

The hostess cleared her throat. "Nothing, sorry. For dinner?"

"Actually," she said, "I think I'll just wait for him at the bar."

Jemma was sure that the hostess mumbled something in return, but it was hard to focus when she was so worried about her hair, her makeup, and her choice of cardigan. A person only had one chance to make a good second impression.

It was more difficult to look for him when she grabbed her bar stool, since she couldn't be too obvious. That's why she almost missed it when the barkeeper asked what he could get for her.

"Oh, nothing! I'm meeting someone."

She was worried he'd be put off by that, but the bartender only smiled at her.

"Oh yeah? You got a hot date?"

Jemma willed herself not to flush.

"Well, I don't know if you would call it 'hot,' I mean, this guy, Mack, and I have only been out the one time and—"

"You know Mack? Mackenzie?"

Jemma's mouth dropped. "Yeah."

The bartender shook his head. "Mack isn't coming in tonight. Did he, uh, did he forget he said he'd meet you here?"

It was the look of pure, unadulterated concern on the bartender's face that made Jemma hold up a hand to stop him.

"Oh, no, when I said I was going to meet him here, I didn't actually mean I was meeting him," she explained, though the bartender only seemed more confused. "It's more of a broad term. A wide interpretation of the phrase."

The bartender nodded. "Okay, well, I can call him for you."

"No!" 

Jemma found herself trying to hurl herself over the bar to stop the man from picking up the phone, but she must have been dramatic enough to catch his attention, because it seemed to do the trick.

"It's totally unnecessary," she assured him. "I just, I was in the area, and I thought . . ." She turned to rifle through her purse. "I mean, I know he likes to come here, so I thought I'd swing by to return his . . ." Where was it? Oh, for the love of . . . there! "This pen! It's _his_ pen, and he left it, so I thought, you know, that he'd want it back."

She put the pen on the bar with a triumphant flourish, but he only blinked at her with hands on his hips.

"Yeah, okay," he said, picking up the pen, "I'll get it to him." She was about to protest when he brought the pen closer to his eyes to read the branding. "Cal Zabo, DDS."

"Hey," she said, defending herself against his raised eyebrow, "I'm not going to decide what is or isn't important to someone. It would be wrong of me, in fact, to deny a plethora of possibilities with no factual evidence."

The bartender only frowned at her. "Yeah, except, it's not even his dentist."

"Oh yeah," she shot back, "and who is?"

The man folded his arms. "My mum."

It wasn't until his unamused glare pierced her very soul that Jemma realized that the gig was up.

"I'm Jemma," she admitted, "I went out with Mack last week, and I just . . . I thought if I ran into him that he would . . ." She dared to look up into his eyes, was suddenly able to look at the situation from his perspective, and was mortified. Here she was, some crazy girl stalking his friend. What ever made her think this was a good idea? "I don't know," she continued, "I've . . . I'm just going to go."

She was determined to make a clean break when the bartender caught her by the wrist. She looked down at his hand, and it instantly retreated.

"Sorry, I just . . . wait a minute, okay? Just hang out here for a bit, and let me buy you a drink. Just one drink, okay?"

Jemma took another cleansing breath and cursed that fact that it didn't help. 

"I'm Fitz, by the way," he said, "just, just give me two seconds and we can talk, alright?"

He ended up mixing her drink in record speed, but he wasn't able to talk to her until the bar was closing.

"Look," he said as he gathered up empty bottles. "you seem like a nice girl, so I'm just going to be honest. Mack is never going to call you."

Jemma scoffed at him. "Oh really? How do you know?"

"Because I'm a guy," Fitz said, "and that's just how we do it."

Jemma narrowed her eyes at him, taking in his mop of curly hair, ill-fitting t-shirt, and adorable baby face. The idea of him blowing off a girl was laughable, but luckily for him, she had been raised to show restraint.

In most cases, at least.

Jemma folded her arms and leveled a challenging gaze at him. "He said it was nice meeting me."

"I don't care if he said that you're his favorite female since his mum and Sif. It's Occam's razor. If he waited a week to call you, then he's not going to call you." She furrowed her brow, and he sighed at her. "Occam's razor is—"

"No, I know what it is, it's just . . . the simplest explanation isn't the only possibility. Maybe he called me, and my phone didn't ring. That happens sometimes! Or he lost my number, or he went out of town . . ."

"Or maybe," Fitz posited with a finger in the air, "he didn't call because he has no interest in seeing you again."

She stared at him for a second, stung, before she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "Well, yes," she said, "but my friend Akela met this guy, Mike. And he almost literally disappeared off of the face of the Earth, but then he showed up a year later, and it turned out that he had been kidnapped by a drug cartel. Kidnapped, Fitz! And now they're together and they're disgustingly happy!"

"And I'm happy for them," Fitz countered, "but she's the exception. The rare exception! Are you seriously going to blame it on kidnapping anytime a guy doesn't call?"

"Okay," she allowed, "but what if _I'm_ the exception?"

Fitz pinched the bridge of his nose with a thumb and forefinger. "No, you're not. You're the rule. If a guy doesn't call you, he doesn't want to call you!"

She glared at him. "Really?"

"Yeah!"

"Always?"

"Always." He looked at her and winced. "Look, I work in a bar. I know what blowing off a woman looks like. We would rather lose an arm out a city bus window than tell you that you’re not the one. We are quite sure you will kill us or yourself or both—or even worse, cry and yell at us. So, just trust me when I say that if a guy is treating you like he doesn't care, he genuinely doesn't care. No exceptions. He's just not that into you."

Jemma took a second to mull that over and was surprised to discover that his barbs didn't sting. In fact, the more she thought about it, the more things seemed to slot into place. How had she never seen it before?

And as strange as this night had turned out, the strangest part of it came from Jemma's own lips. 

"Thank you."

Fitz furrowed his brow. "Thank you?"

"Yeah," she said, smiling for the first time that evening. "You've given me a lot to think about."

* * *

Jemma sped into the office the next morning with a binder in one hand and a mug of tea in the other, and for the first time in her life, she was almost late.

"Whoa," said Bobbi, "are you okay?"

Both Bobbi and Daisy sprang from their desks and were at her side before she knew it.

"Oh," she said, doing her best to wave it off with tea in her hand, "I stayed up all night."

"Please say that you were working on the heat fixing article," pleaded Daisy.

"Well, that's done—basically done—but that's not what I was working on. I've been thinking about all the guys I've dated and—"

"Jemma," said Bobbi. "what's going on with your hair?"

Daisy frowned. "I think you have a mini muffin in there."

"Here," said Bobbi, "let's get Jemma out of the hallway before people see her like this."

Jemma let them guide her into Bobbi's cubicle, unmoved even as they picked through her hair. "I think I've figured it out. You remember Nick, who disappeared on me after a month, but then Audrey from music and the arts told that story about that guy who disappeared on her and came back a year later?"

Bobbi cocked her head. "I thought Audrey was in accounting."

"No; music." Jemma shook her head. "Anyway, Audrey was the exception, not the rule, and we have to stop listening to these stories, because the rule is that guys who bail don't care about you very much. We can't think we're the exception because we're not the exception."

Daisy folded her arms. "Okay."

"Okay, remember that guy I was so excited about in college that finally asked me out and then stood me up, and then I stalked him for the majority of 2004? Or Jasper, who broke up with me every Friday so he could have his weekends free? We keep dating these jerks, but we let them string us along because someone tells us a story about how they know someone who knows someone who dated a jerk just like mine, but then he changed and they're married. But that's the exception, and we're not the exception. We're the rule."

Jemma smiled as she finished her explanation, pulsing with success and adrenaline, but Daisy and Bobbi only blinked back at her, seemingly unmoved.

"So you're saying," said Bobbi after a pause, "that if I hear a story about a girl who got married to a guy, and then they broke up, but they got back together and are happily married again, that's the exception."

Jemma could practically hear a choir singing. "Yes!"

"But the rule is," continued Bobbi, frowning, "the rule is that it's called a break up because it's broken, and guys like Hunter who are with girls like me are never going to actually end up getting married again."

Jemma found herself looking at Daisy, who was looking right back at her, and they turned to Bobbi in unison.

"No!"

* * *

"And that," said the guy that was probably named Will, "is why you never drink and fly."

Jemma wasn't sure if her laughter came from nerves or genuine amusement, but a quick glance to her right met Daisy's glare. She decided it must be nerves. 

"Well, ladies," he said, "I have to go back to work."

Jemma furrowed her brow. "But just said that you can't drink and fly."

"Being a pilot is more than just flying," he said, flashing her a smile. "I have a lot of paperwork I have to catch up on." 

"You have to go back to work after happy hour?" Jemma gave him what she hoped was an adorable pout. "What's so happy about that?"

That's when he winked at her—actually winked at her as he threw back the last of his drink. "I got to meet you. And I'd love to call you some time. Do you have a card?"

Jemma had to keep herself from squealing as she rifled through her purse to retrieve her card, taking extra care to wink back at him when she deposited it into his hand. 

"Great," he said, putting the card in his pocket and producing another card, which he placed in her hand. "And here are my digits. It was nice meeting you, Daisy." He nodded at Daisy, then winked at Jemma again. "And I look forward to hearing from you."

Jemma was about to revel in the butterflies in her stomach when she realized something, and the flutter stopped.

"Wait a minute," she said, getting off her barstool to catch up with him.

"Hmm?"

"Sorry, it's just," she started, taking a breath, "are you going to call me, or am I supposed to call you? That was somewhat vague."

Will (she'd slyly double-checked his name on the card earlier), smiled. "We'll be in touch."

He turned to leave, but she stopped him with a hand on his elbow. "Sorry, but you did it again." She took a breath in and out and forced herself to smile. "Why don't we just say that you'll call me? That way we can just eliminate all this nonsense."

Will cocked his head to one side, wished her goodnight, and walked away.

"Jemma," admonished Daisy when Jemma returned to the table, "please don't Facebook stalk him."

Jemma drew her mouth into a thin line. "I won't." She turned to look Daisy in the eye and was frankly offended by the disbelief written on Daisy's face. "I'm really not this time! And I'm not calling him. If he wants to call me, he'll call." To prove her point, she tore the card up. 

"Wow," said Daisy, "this is a whole new side of Jemma Simmons. That Fitz must have made an impression on you."

"I know," Jemma admitted, "I was really hoping he'd be here tonight to help me." 

"Oh, really?"

Jemma scoffed at Daisy's raised eyebrow. "Not like that. He gives good advice."

"And what, he works here at The Hub?" Jemma nodded, and Daisy narrowed her eyes. "Is he hot?"

Jemma had to think about that for a moment. Fitz, with his overgrown curls and stained t-shirt, was a far cry from someone like Will, but it seemed wrong to simply dismiss Fitz out of hand. "He's handsome," she eventually said, "but I promise you, it's not like that."

She was dimly aware that Daisy mumbled something under her breath, but she was distracted when the man himself appeared.

"Fitz!"

She only wanted to give him a wave across the room, but Fitz put down his dish bin and joined them before Jemma knew what was happening.

"Hey," he said, "it's good to see you."

"You have good timing," Jemma teased.

"Oh?"

Fitz's eyes flicked down to the shreds of paper on the table, then back up at her.

"A guy just gave Jemma his number," Daisy explained, "and she says she's going to wait for _him_ to call." 

The pride seemed to glow in Fitz's eyes. "Good. She should make him do the work."

"Well," countered Daisy, "I think it's kind of nice that he gave her his number. It gives him some accountability. If he forgets to call her, she can call him."

Fitz shook his head. "He wouldn't forget to call her."

"Well," said Daisy, clearly mulling it over, "maybe not, but what if he loses her card or something? I mean, come on, Fitz. This is the twenty-first century. If a woman can be the CEO of a Fortune 500 company, she can give a guy a call. Or ask him out! I asked Grant out, and we've been dating forever!"

Jemma rolled her eyes, "It's been six months."

"I . . ." stammered Fitz, "I can't . . . I don't . . . Okay. A few years back, I was at this sandwich festival, yeah?"

Jemma stared at him. "Sandwich festival?"

"Yeah," Fitz answered, "a sandwich festival. I had a sample of this perfect sandwich, okay? Prosciutto, buffalo mozzarella, and this pesto sauce . . . thing? It was the best thing I ever tasted, but when I went back home that night and I wanted to order another sandwich, I realized that I'd forgotten the name of the restaurant. So I dialed fifty-five restaurants until I found the right one. And that's just what I did for a sandwich. If he wants to make it happen, he'll make it happen, and you shouldn't make up any excuses for him."

"So what," said Daisy, "we're just supposed to wait around for the phone to ring?"

"No!" Fitz shook his head so violently Jemma was half-afraid it would fly off his shoulders. "Go live your life! Go to places you like to go, and do whatever it is you want to do. That'll only make you more attractive."

Daisy opened her mouth to speak when her phone rang, and she had to excuse herself to answer it. Jemma took the opportunity to look Fitz over from head to toe, only stopping when Fitz took a step back.

"What?"

"Fitz," she said, "how is a guy like you still single?"

Fitz pointed to his chest, and then looked over each shoulder. "Me?"

Jemma chuckled. "Of course you! You're this dating guru, after all."

"Oh," he said, fidgeting, "well, not really. I mean, I can tell you when a guy's not interested. And girls, too, because they never . . . are."

"Well, what if I could help you with that?"

He took another step back. "Excuse me?"

"I just . . ." Jemma pursed her lips. "You're being so helpful to me, and I'd like to return the favor. So what about this: you help me learn how to drop guys, and I'll teach you how to pick girls up. Deal?"

She reached out her hand, and after a little hesitation, he took it.

"Deal."

Jemma was more pleased with herself than she could say. The first thing to go, she decided, would be the hair.


	2. If He's Too Busy to See You

Fitz looked in the mirror and carded through his shorn hair.

"I'm not sure this was such a great idea."

"Of course it's a great idea," Jemma said, sidling up beside him. "If you want women to be attracted to you, you have to look like a man."

He folded his arms and frowned at her reflection in the mirror. "I _am_ a man."

"That," she said with a cheeky grin, "is exactly why we should make you look like one. Now all you have to do is let your beard grow in a little and—"

"Beard!"

Jemma blinked at him. "Yes. It's pretty easy, from what I hear. You just have to stop shaving."

"For some guys, maybe!" He clasped his arm behind his back and started pacing. "For Mack, of course. He's has that, um, that impressive physique, and I mean he's . . . he's quite a lot of a man, and I'm just . . ." He turned to the mirror and gestured towards himself. "This."

Jemma merely rolled her eyes at him. "Except Mack doesn't call."

"He does," said Fitz, still sizing himself up. "Just, not when he knows it's not right. Did he say he would call?"

Jemma frowns. "No."

"Ah," Fitz said, "you women are always looking for signs, but you missed that one."

"What if he promised to call, and didn't?"

"Then that's even worse! Mack wouldn't do that. But yeah. If he doesn't call when he says he's going to call, then he's really not into you. If he likes you, he'll be _waiting_ to call, like, um . . ." Fitz dropped his gaze to the floor and tried not to blush.

Jemma cocked her head at him. "Like what?"

Fitz sighed. "Okay, I know you're going to laugh at me, but, my mum. With working at the bar and everything, I don't get to see her that much, but I call her when I can. And if I had a girl that I liked, I'd call her too."

"Hmm," said Jemma, "That's a very good point. Now, I got some shirts, and I want to see how they look on you. Just hold still."

"Hold on." Fitz rushed over to his dresser, found a notepad, and returned. "I took some notes for you. I'll read them while you're doing . . . that."

Jemma nodded in agreement and picked up the first dress shirt, holding it up to him to determine if it matched his complexion and finding that she really liked how blue his eyes were. She'd have to find shirts that accentuated them.

"Now, the most important thing you have to remember is this: your time is valuable."

Jemma held up a tie and was quite pleased with how well it looked, despite the olive green of his work t-shirt.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, it means three things: one," he said, holding up his pointer finger, "you don't have to spend your time worrying about guys you don't even like that much in the hopes they'll look your way. Take Mack for example. Was that the best date you've ever had, or was it just okay?"

Jemma had to think about that one for a moment. "Well, it was nice. He was on time, we had a nice conversation, he didn't make me pay—"

"Hold on," interjected Fitz, "that's it? That's what made you want to 'accidentally' bump into him at the bar?" He shook his head. "I'm sorry, Jemma, but your standards are _low_."

"Well," Jemma defended with a shrug, "you never know who could be the one. And I don't want to end up alone; I want to find the one."

"Okay, but that ties into my second point." Fitz held up a second finger. "You want to spend your time with a guy who thinks spending time with you is the best part of his day. If your guy doesn't act like he wants to spend time with you, go find someone who will. And that leads me to my third point: if you're spending all this time chasing after losers, you won't have time for The One. You need to leave some space in your life for him. What?"

Jemma put a hand over her mouth to hide her chuckle. "Nothing, it's just—you're so _serious_. It's adorable."

"Well, I wouldn't say . . ." Somehow, he managed to frown at her with his whole being. "I am not adorable."

Jemma held up one last dress shirt with a satisfactory smirk. "Yes, you are. But you'll look positively dashing in these outfits." She gestured towards a few combinations of shirts, slacks, and ties that she'd draped on his bed. "Try them on, and let me know if they make you feel confident."

Fitz looked at the clothes, then at Jemma, then back at the clothes. "Wait, you're going? What if none of them make me feel confident?"

"I told you I had to go to yoga tonight. And if you don't like the clothes, there are hundreds of people out there in the world who are paid to help you look good. Take these back, find one of them, and go from there. Okay?"

Fitz put his hands through his hair and studied his new clothes. "Okay."

Jemma smiled at him, then turned to show herself out, stopping as she reached the doorknob. "Oh, and Fitz?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

* * *

"I dumped Hunter."

Jemma stopped typing and looked up to where Bobbi had folded her arms on the top of her cubicle wall.

"You _what_?"

The second voice came from Daisy, who wheeled her chair over, sat next to Jemma, and encouraged Bobbi to continue with a wave of her hand. Bobbi simply pursed her lips.

"Wait," said Jemma, "you just dumped him? Weren't you the one who dumped him last time?"

Bobbi rubbed at her temples. "Yes, I know, but we've been back together for two years now. He knows me, and he should know if he wants to marry me. So I asked him."

Daisy gaped at her. "Well, what did he say?"

"Nothing!" Bobbi's frustration was better articulated by her waving hands than her tone. "I didn't go crazy on him; I just asked him if he planned on ever marrying me again in the future. And he just stood there, staring at me. So I broke up with him."

"Oh Bobbi, I'm so sorry," said Daisy as she stood up to give Bobbi a hug. "We should have a girl's night tonight: popcorn, _Pride and Prejudice_ , and as much Ben and Jerry's as we can find. How does that sound?"

Bobbi nodded, straightening her shirt to remove all traces of the hug, but Jemma felt a prick of guilt in her heart.

"Sorry, Daisy, but I can't go tonight. I have a date. Some random girl from yoga set me up."

Daisy looked from Jemma to Bobbi and shrugged. "No problem. Do you like that yoga instructor by the way? Kara? Grant says she's amazing. He's going all the time now."

Jemma furrowed her brow. "That's funny," she said. "I haven't seen either of them in weeks."

* * *

Milton wasn't a bad kisser, but Jemma thought that he could probably use some attention to detail.

"Mmmm," she found herself saying as he moved from her mouth to her neck, "I can't wait to kiss you again!"

She didn't know why she said it, only that the detachment of his lips was not her intended objective.

"Aren't we kissing right now?" 

It wasn't until he was staring at her with confused, blinking eyes that she realized he had a rather oddly-shaped head.

"Yes, but the second date kiss is much more intimate," she said, "I'm just . . . looking forward to it, is all."

"Oh," Milton stammered, "I, um—you're absolutely right, of course, it _is_ , I mean, it's just . . . I'm going out of town tomorrow, so I'll be out of touch for a little bit."

Jemma sat back at the couch, puzzled. Out of touch? Jemma had no idea what that could possibly mean, but she knew exactly how to find out. She excused herself, ran to the bathroom, and dialed Fitz.

"Yeah?"

"Hey Fitz," she said, perching on the edge of Milton's tub, "sorry to bother you. Just have a quick question."

"Uh, okay." A muffled sound came through the receiver as Fitz asked someone to hold on, and a distinctively feminine voice murmured her assent. "What's going on?"

"Okay, so I'm making out with this guy—PG stuff—and he mentions that he's going to be out of town, so he's going to be out of touch."

"Run," said Fitz.

"But what if he really is going out of town?"

Fitz scoffed through the phone. "Where, to New Guinea? Where's he going to be that he's gonna be out of touch?"

Jemma considered that for a moment, impressed enough with Fitz's point that she opened the bathroom door and yelled out, "Where are you going out of town to again?"

There was a beat of silence from the other room before Milton called back. "Um, uh, Pittsburgh."

"Pittsburgh," repeated Jemma into the phone. 

"Run!"

"What," sighed Jemma, "I'm just supposed to run from every guy that doesn't like me?"

"Well, yeah. It's a waste of your time."

"But Fitz," she said, her heart sinking a bit, "there's not going to be anybody left!"

She heard Fitz _hmm_ before he said, "Okay, I don't know why I'm saying this, but I think I know a nice guy who might actually like you."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. He's a friend of Mack's actually, and his name is Trip. The three of us can meet for drinks, and it'll be  . . . good."

"Okay!" Jemma found herself smiling again, until she remembered where she was. "So, I'm in his bathroom right now. What should I do?"

"Well," said Fitz, "you have to come out eventually, right? But, uh, I'd take my time in there. Make him sweat."

Once again, Jemma was impressed. "Thanks."

"Good luck."

And really, she decided, Milton had lied right to her face. It was only fair that he'd lend her a few teeth whitening strips to make up for it.

* * *

Bobbi walked past Daisy's cubicle and stopped short when Daisy gave a _psst_!

"Hmm?" 

Daisy nodded towards Jemma. "We wanted to know how you were doing."

Jemma, for her part, was just a surprised as Bobbi to hear this news.

"We are?"

"Well," Bobbi said with a shrug, "there's not much to tell. Hunter moved into his boat; I'm moving on."

"Oh, come on," badgered Daisy, "you guys have been together for a long time, if you add it all up."

Bobbi straightened her skirt and cleared her throat. "That's the problem. I don't want to ride a roller coaster with him anymore. I'm starting to wonder if the ride is even worth it."

"Yeah," Daisy allowed, "but you're back in the dating scene again. Which sucks. Right, Jemma?"

Jemma pursed her lips, watching her wringing hands. "It's not _so_ bad." 

"Oh?" asked Bobbi. "How did it go with that guy from the other night?"

"It wasn't the best date I've ever been on." She still couldn't bring herself to meet their eyes. "I mean, it was going pretty well until he told me he was going out of town."

"See?" said Daisy, pointing at Jemma, then Bobbi. "It sucks! And don't you have your sister's wedding coming up?"

Bobbi nodded. "This weekend. Rehearsal dinner is Wednesday."

"Well, if you need a date," said Daisy, "Jemma and I are here for you."

That made Jemma look up at them. "Actually, I have another date on Wednesday. Fitz set me up this time."

Daisy groaned. "I swear, no one can keep up with your social life. No worries, though. I'll be your date, Bobbi. Somebody needs to make sure your weird cousin doesn't say anything creepy about you this time. And I'll even send Grant to check up on Hunter."

"You're the best," said Bobbi.

* * *

Jemma tapped her fingers on the table and commended herself for picking the perfect seat to watch for Fitz and his friend. Fitz hadn't told her any details, so she was free to wonder just what sort of man would show up. Why did Fitz think they'd click, anyway? At least she had no doubts as to why he'd picked the bar—it hummed with life without being too loud. And by the time she'd decided that, Fitz walked through the door, spotted her, and came her way.

"Sorry I'm late."

"No, it's okay," she said, waving it off, "I like some time before a blind date. I can prepare myself mentally, remind myself not to tell the story about the time I caught that nasty virus—"

"Uh," Fitz interjected, "Jemma, he's not coming. But you can tell _me_ the story about the virus, as long as it's not too . . . you know."

Jemma shrank into her chair. "How could he already not like me?" 

"Oh, no, it was my fault," he explained, waving over a waitress. "I told him it was Thursday instead of Wednesday. I'm sorry." He gave her a sheepish look as he ordered his drink, and it was then that Jemma noticed his stubble had grown in, and he was wearing the bright blue dress shirt she'd picked out for him. To be honest, he looked fantastic, and the waitress was just as aware of it as Jemma was. She averted her eyes to find a group of college kids standing nearby: one kid who looked far too young for his beer,  and the girl who wouldn't stop staring at another guy who seemed to think he was too good for almost anything.

"Great," she said, "I'm stuck here with a guy who can't distinguish Wednesday from Thursday, meanwhile this girl over there is probably meeting her soulmate as we speak."

Fitz followed her gaze and raised an eyebrow, "Who, this one? With the trust fund kid who needs a haircut?" Fitz's eyes met hers, and she nodded. "Oh, no way. She's interested, but he isn't."

"You cannot tell from a cursory glance that he's not into her."

"Oh no," he countered, "I can. I see it every night at work. Now, look at them: she's going on about her upcoming term paper, and he's just trying to look for a way out. And there it is!" The girl gave out a yelp as her drink spilled. "And that gives him the perfect opportunity to . . . do that." Mr. Trust Fund slipped away from the girl and embarked on a direct course towards a girl with a shoulder tattoo. "Meanwhile, this guy who's picking up her ice cubes? Well, Ice Man is going to stand there and buy drinks for her all night, and she's still going to insist that there's no 'spark.'"

Jemma shrugged as she took another sip of her drink. "Well, you have to have a spark!"

"No, no, no," Fitz said, "The Spark is just as imaginary as the girlfriend I had in high school. It's just made up by guys who want to string you along while they're looking for better options. And when they finally decide that you're the best they can do, they try to convince you that the anxiety they caused _you_ by treating _you_ badly is just a spark. But what I don't get," he said, "is why you all fall for it! I wouldn't if I were a girl."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Oh? You wouldn't?"

Fitz swallowed and shook his head. "No. Better to be alone than to be pining after someone who's not sure about you."

"Well, of course," she allowed, "but nobody's sure about anybody at first. You've got to at least give people a chance."

Fitz downed the last of his drink and wiped off his lips. "Every chance you give someone is a opportunity for them to hurt you," he said. But he looked down at his empty glass, then up through his eyelashes at her, and it occurred to Jemma that he was only telling her half the story.

"Lovely," she said, feeling a shiver go down her spine, "and tell me, again why you're sharing all this insider information with me?"

Fitz simply shrugged. "I don't know; I like you."

Jemma was caught completely off guard. Fitz? Liking her? She let out some form of a question that made his eyes go wide.

"No! I mean, I like you the way I like monkeys. Adorable, but far too mischievous for their own good. If I don't keep my eye on you, there's no telling what trouble you'll get into."

Jemma merely shook her head and laughed.

* * *

"He's into me!"

Jemma's attempt at a whisper had turned into more of a hoarse shout, but it was enough to draw the Daisy's attention.

"I knew it!" Her smile fell. "Which one?"

"Fitz," Jemma explained. "There have been signs."

"Signs! I love signs." She took Jemma by the wrist and lead her to Jemma's cubicle. "Tell me all about the signs."

"Well," said Jemma, "remember that first night we met? He spent all night talking to me."

"Yes! Good sign."

Jemma nodded. "And then, when you and I ran into him at happy hour, he dropped what he was doing—literally, actually—to come talk to us."

"Yes," said Daisy as she took a sip of her latte, "another good sign. What else?"

"You mean when he set me up with this friend, 'Trip,' who conveniently didn't show so he could spend all evening alone with me?" Jemma shook her head. "Come on, Daisy. There is no Trip. But I didn't put it together until last night!"

Daisy's eyebrows shot up. "What happened last night? Is it . . ." She looked to the right, then the left. "Is it safe for work?"

Jemma put a hand up to stop her. "No! I mean, yes, of course it is. It's not what you're thinking at all. He called me."

Daisy deflated a little. "He called you."

"Yes! I was just sitting there, alone, of course, because he won't let me date guys that don't like me, and the phone rang. He invited me to a party at his house. And then there was some noise behind him, and I guess someone dropped a plate, so I apologized for calling him at work, but Daisy, _he_ called _me_."

"He called you," Daisy, "from work—which means he's thinking about you at work—to invite you to a party? Jemma, that's . . . oh, but what if Mack is there? That could be awkward."

"No! That's the best part: Mack is out of town on some insurance conference . . . thing. I think it was Mack's party, actually, but Fitz take had to take over."

Daisy thought about that for a moment. "So he's using this as an opportunity to introduce you to his friends without having to worry about Mack! That's genius, actually."

"Yeah?" asked Jemma. "You think?"

Daisy nodded. "That's what it looks like to me. I'm so excited for you! What day is the party?"

Jemma had to take a breath to calm the bubbling in her stomach. "Saturday. What?'

"Nothing! It's just . . ." Daisy pursed her lips. "That's the day of Bobbi's sister's wedding, but I've got it. You should go to the party."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I mean, I had to throw a serving spoon at Bobbi's cousin during his rehearsal dinner speech, so I think that should stop him from trying anything next time. Besides, Bobbi is too observant not to notice that Fitz spends way too much time with you to just want to be friends. I'm sure she's already rooting for you two."

Jemma nodded, not sure if she wanted to smile or frown. In the end, she decided that it had all worked out for the best. Daisy would take care of Bobbi, Bobbi would be happy she was with Fitz, and Fitz?

Fitz, with his deep blue eyes and kind smile and calming demeanor, was into her.

Things were only looking up from here.


	3. If He Cheats on You

Jemma was about to ask Daisy just which outfit she should wear to Fitz's party when she saw that Daisy had about six browser windows open on her two screens. Jemma stopped cold.

"Daisy, is this a bad time?"

"Jemma," she said without turning around, "what do you think about this one?"

When Jemma came closer, she realized that each window Daisy had open showed a different floor plan.

"Are you moving?"

Daisy flicked her eyes up to Jemma and nodded. "Grant finally agreed to move in with me." 

It seemed to Jemma that Daisy had more to say, but when she waited a while for Daisy to continue, nothing happened.

"Well, congratula—"

"Jemma, if I asked you a question, do you think you could give me an honest answer?" 

Jemma raised an eyebrow. "Of course I will."

"Good," said Daisy, "because I think some of the guys in the science department have been smoking."

Jemma once again waited for Daisy continue, but Daisy only looked up at her expectantly.

"Wait," said Jemma, "was _that_ the question?"

"Yes."

"It sounds more like a statement."

"Well, the question part is implied."

"But I really didn't hear anything in the inflection—"

" _Jemma_ ," said Daisy, "have your science guys been smoking or not?"

Jemma stared at Daisy, completely perplexed. "The company . . . the company doesn't hire people who smoke, Daisy. Everyone in my department is in compliance with regulations. They're good employees."

Daisy only glared at Jemma. "Are you sure your guys having been sneaking around here, and smoking? And _lying_ to me, and smoking?"

"Why would they . . . yes, I'm sure." Jemma pinched her eyes shut. "Daisy, it's not even your department."

Daisy leaned forward with her elbows on her desk, massaging her temples with her fingers. "I need you to be honest with me, Jemma. I can't have someone lying to me. To my face. In my place of business. On my time."

Jemma had absolutely no idea why Daisy was so incensed, but when she tried to analyze Daisy's words, all she could say was, "That's a lot of prepositions."

"There's no reason for that kind of dishonesty, is there?" Daisy screwed her face into an expression of pure disgust. "In a workplace, where people expect to be treated with dignity? Jemma, we made _promises_ to each other. I mean, the company gave me an offer letter, and I accepted it, right? That's like making promises, isn't it?"

Jemma looked from Daisy to the floor plans to her feet, feeling something gurgle in the pit of her stomach. "Maybe I should get back to work."

Daisy cocked her head at Jemma and stared off into the distance, taking in a sharp breath. "Yeah, yeah, of course. You go ahead."

Jemma turned to make her escape and was almost gone before she heard Daisy call her name.

"Jemma," Daisy repeated when Jemma turned around, "we're good, right? You and me?"

Jemma swallowed. "Yeah, of course." 

And before Daisy could say anything else, Jemma scurried off to find Bobbi. 

* * *

Fitz's apartment, it turned out, looked dramatically different when it was bulging at the seams with people. Jemma was overwhelmed almost immediately, and not five minutes into the party she bought a brand new outfit for, she found herself hiding in a corner, stress-eating pretzels and scanning the adjoining room for Fitz.

"I'm Elena."

Jemma turned to the voice yelled over the din of the crowd to find a woman with long, dark hair and a wide smile. She pointed to an even darker man beside her.

"And this is Joey."

Elena offered her hand, and Jemma took it. "I'm Jemma. How do . . ." One final scan and she found him, far in the corner of the living room, talking to a tall brunette. "How do you know Fitz?"

Joey looked to Elena, who looked back at him.

"Well, we don't," he answered, "but Elena—"

"I work with his roommate, Mack," Elena finished.

Jemma saw the brunette throw Fitz a flirty smile and felt the need to clear her throat. "I thought Mack wasn't going to be here."

"He's not," said Elena, "but he told me I was welcome to come anyway. It's strange to be in his house, though—I've never actually met him."

When Jemma raised an eyebrow, Joey leaned in to offer an explanation. "We work for an ad company that promotes his insurance agency. Mack and Elena usually do business over the phone."

"And by email," added Elena. "Do you know Mack, Jemma?"

She couldn't help but cringe, though she was slightly encouraged when she saw Fitz ignore the brunette completely. "I don't know him that well at all, actually," she said. "Fitz invited me."

Elena nodded. "And how do you know Fitz?"

"Well," she said with a gulp, "I hope . . . uh, I mean I'm pretty sure that something's about to happen between us."

Joey and Elena exchanged a glance, and the two offered something akin to hums of a congratulatory nature.

"So," said Elena, "does that mean that you're here as a guest, or are you his date?"

When Jemma wasn't sure how to answer, Joey chimed in. "Guys, right? Why can't they be more clear about things?"

"You should talk," said Elena, nudging him with her shoulder. "But it is tricky. You don't know if you should bring a friend, or if you're co-hosting, or what. And if you are, should you stay after for some alone time?" Elena took a sip of her drink. "I don't like men who move slow like that. I like to move fast."

"Well," offered Jemma, "I'm pretty sure that I'm more than a date. There have been signs."

Joey and Elena both took large sips of their drinks at the same time.

"Oh," said Elena.

"That's nice," offered Joey. After a few beats of awkward silence, he nodded to Elena.

"Well, we'd better—"

Elena nodded. "Yeah. Nice to meet you, Jemma."

And before she could return the sentiment, Jemma found herself alone with her pretzels again.

* * *

"Hey," Fitz yelled as he approached, "I had no idea it'd be such a mad house!"

Jemma looked around to make sure the brunette was nowhere in sight, then smiled.

"It's some party!"

"Yeah, thanks." He gently squeezed her arm, then grabbed an empty bowl behind her and took off towards the kitchen. She stayed close behind. "So, did any guys hit in you? Do you, uh, need me to evaluate any levels of interest?"

Was he jealous? Jemma tucked her hair behind her ear and they made their way through the crowd. Best to soothe his worry immediately. 

"Oh, I ran into my friends, Akela and Mike, who are ridiculously in love with each other. I didn't know you knew them."

Fitz shrugged. "Neither did I."

"And then there was Joey," she continued, "who's gay, so even I could tell his interest was low."

"Well," Fitz said, "it's too bad Trip couldn't make it. I really think the two of you would hit it off."

"Right," Jemma chuckled, bring her hands up for air quotes, "Trip."

He furrowed his brow. "Yeah, Trip." He stared at her for a second, then shook his head. "Look, I've got to go for a beer run, but do you think you could help me out? I'm doing my best to keep all the snack bowls filled, and if you could just—"

"Kind of like co-hosting?"

Fitz blinked at her. "Yeah, sure. Would you mind?"

She beamed at him. "Not at all."

He thanked her before grabbing his keys and disappearing into the crowd, and Jemma felt the supreme joy of surety. Fitz had asked her to be his co-host, which was basically an audition for being his girlfriend, and this was one test she could pass with flying colors. She went to work immediately, refilling chips and freshening drinks, and getting to know quite a few of Fitz's guests along the way. Akela and Mike were both going to school to become ophthalmologists, Elena had a huge crush on Mack that Joey was egging on, and the brunette was named Lorelei.

It was when Jemma was mixing together a new batch of dip that Lorelei entered the kitchen.

"Can I help you find something?" 

Lorelei simply brushed past her as she grabbed something off a high shelf. "Oh, no need. I've found it on my own." She looked down at Jemma and took the bowl of dip right out of Jemma's hands. "Thank you for your assistance."

"What?"

"Fitz asked me to make more of this," Lorelei explained, "thank you for your contribution." She took a sample taste of the dip and frowned. "Though I think it needs a little more dill."

Jemma stood there for a full minute, still holding her mixing spoon, until she realized that Lorelei was the hostess at Fitz's bar.

* * *

Jemma was so focused on rounding up the last of the beer bottles that she almost didn't realize that everyone was gone except herself and Fitz. And, unfortunately, Lorelei, who was watching Fitz tinker with a small drone.

"And this is one of your inventions?"

Fitz looked up at Lorelei and shook his head. "No, this is Mack's, actually. He asked me to fix it for him so he could use it on yet another weird ad campaign. I think Elena will shoot it down, though. Metaphorically, of course."

"Of course," Lorelei agreed. When she leaned in a little too close, Jemma cleared her throat.

"I think it's all done," Jemma said. "Everything is cleaned up. Should I take these bottles out to recycling, or . . ."

But they weren't looking at her, because Lorelei was asking what kind of power the drone ran on, and Fitz was answering in far more detail than was necessary. Jemma's heart sank as she checked her watch.

"Actually, it's almost three, so maybe I should just . . ."

"It's what?" Lorelei stood up immediately and began collecting her things. "I have to get going. Thank you, Fitz," she said as she leaned in to press a kiss to his cheek, "it was a glorious gathering."

"Glorious," said Fitz, seemingly perplexed, "right."

Jemma wasn't sure what a kiss on the cheek meant for Fitz and Lorelei, but the clear disinterest on Fitz's face was the kind of evidence she was looking for. She waited until she heard the door slam, counted to three, and decided to make her move.

Her heart was racing and her palms were sweaty, but this was always how it happened in the movies, or in some friend's story, and all she had to do was follow the script. She sat on the couch next to Fitz and waited for her cue.

"Thanks for staying and helping to clean up," he said. Yawning, he stretched and began to stand. "I really got to go to bed, though."

And there it was.

"Is that an invitation?"

Fitz stopped cold. "What?"

She chuckled at herself, feeling the blush come to her cheeks. "That was so cheesy, I'm just . . . I'm not good at this."

Fitz rubbed at his eyes. "What?"

And he was just so adorable, and so handsome, and she was so nervous that she decided to just jump right in. Or over, scrambling across the couch and aiming straight for Fitz's lips. She hit her target and slid her hand around his neck, pushing him down on the couch and feeling his arms around her. She was overcome with relief as all tension evaporated. Never before had anything felt so right.

"I knew it," she said between kisses, "the best relationships grow out of friendships."

She expected him to kiss her back, or to whisper something in her ear, but instead he pushed her away, staring back at her in confusion.

"Jemma, what—? We're . . . you think we're in a relationship?"

Jemma swallowed and sat up. Honestly, she was so overcome by the thrill of butterflies that she could hardly breathe. She liked Fitz, she realized, liked him more than she'd expected, and they got on so well and made such a good team that she couldn't imagine anyone better suited for her. 

But still, there was no need to get ahead of herself.

"No," she answered, "not in a relationship yet, but we're getting there." 

He didn't return her smile. "And why . . . why would you think that?"

"Because of the signs," she said with a playful scoff. "You know, it was good to hear from me, and calling me from work, or when you were with a girl. Letting me pick out your outfits."

Fitz shook his head, leaning away from her. "Jemma." He stood up from the couch and paced back and forth until he stopped, flinging his hands out to each side. "Jemma, what have I been saying to you since I met you? If a guy wants to date you, he'll make it happen. Did I ask you out?" 

Jemma frowned. "No, not exactly."

"Why would you do this?" He slapped both hands over his face. "Why do _women_ do this? Why do they build up this stuff in their minds and take each little thing a guy does and . . . and then twist it into something else? It's . . . it's madness! And I thought, I thought . . . I thought you were more like me."

He huffed out a sigh and went into a kitchen, and she thought she heard the opening of the fridge door and the scrape of a beer bottle as her while world fell to pieces. He didn't want to kiss her? Why? He hadn't asked her out, but he was the reason she came to his party. He'd been the driving force behind their whole friendship, and if he couldn't see that, and if he couldn't see what they could be together, then she must have been looking at him the wrong way this whole time. What kind of a person wouldn't want someone as great as Jemma was? What kind of person . . .

But then it clicked. Fitz' s take on dating had seemed so smart at first, but now . . .

"I'd rather be like me than be like you," she concluded.

"Excuse me?"

It was all falling together then, things she'd said and things he'd said back, his view of the world and the way he'd reacted to it. How could she have been so blind?

"I may dissect each little thing and put myself out there too much," she said, rising from the couch to face him, "but . . . at least that means I still care. What, do you think you've won, because women are expendable to you? Because you thought you could teach me to see men as expendable?"

"I never said—"

"Fitz, you may never get . . . get hurt or make a fool of yourself that way, but you don't fall in love that way, either." She swallowed, letting herself take a deep breath. "You have not won. You're alone, just like me, but at least I'm doing something about it. At least I'm not going to be alone for the rest of my life, like you are."

She grabbed her coat and left, so angry that she could barely see. She'd been so stupid to trust him, and to fall for him, and to let herself believe that a man so cynical could return any feelings she might have. She stumbled down the stairs and onto the street, her eyes so blinded by tears that when she took out her phone to get an Uber, she almost couldn't read Daisy's texts.

_He cheated on me, Jemma._

_Grant cheated on me._ _He told me himself._

Everything with Fitz faded to the background, and Jemma was scrambling to call Daisy when her phone rang. She answered the call without hesitation.

"Daisy? Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Can you come over? It's Bobbi."

It took Jemma a second to remember the wedding. Bobbi was at her sister's wedding! Could Hunter have—

"What's wrong with Bobbi?"

"She's fine," assured Daisy, "I mean, technically. It's just, her dad."

A thousand images flooded through Jemma's mind. "Her dad?"

"He had a heart attack. Can you come? They're taking him to the hospital, and I don't want her to be alone."

"Yes, of course," said Jemma, feeling her whole body shake. "I'll be right there."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is also the second half of a birthday present for [recoveringrabbit](http://archiveofourown.org/users/recoveringrabbit/works), who has been looking forward to this for a few months! Thank you for your kind encouragement! I hope it meets expectations, despite the ending. Which I plan to resolve shortly!

**Author's Note:**

> I regularly post sneak peeks and general ramblings about my writing on [my tumblr](http://agent-85.tumblr.com/tagged/Writings%20of%20Agent%2085).


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